


Freedom

by tambrathegreat



Series: The Slytherin Redemption Series [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambrathegreat/pseuds/tambrathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An act of desperation leads to insight for Lucius Malfoy.</p>
<p>Any recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling.  I retain all rights to original characters.  I make no money from this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom

Four days ago, Lucius Malfoy had been beaten. He had been scourged like a cringing dog, kicked like a wayward workhorse, punched like a common Muggle. The shame of the acts committed upon his body, along with the revelation of his soon to be ex-wife, caused him to retch painfully over the hole in the floor that was his toilet. He felt the blood drip from his broken nose, and the painful tearing in his abdomen as a rib was displaced. He was naked, and shivering with the cold and shock of the last few hours. He did not welcome the sensations, as he might have when he had his freedom. 

_Freedom._ No, Lucius had never been free. 

When he was a child he laboured under the heavy-handed tyranny of Abraxas Malfoy, his shoulders, back and buttocks often stinging from the blows of the man's cane across them. The boy-Lucius was a Malfoy. He _would not_ be allowed to be weak like his mother. He would not treat the house elves with anything other than contempt; he _would not_ befriend the Muggles in the area, regardless of whether they were the only children for miles around or not; he _would not_ engage in activities, such as drawing, singing, and running about like a child. These acts were the acts of a blood-traitor, not a scion of a pureblood family. Lucius' mother may be dead, but there were plenty of other brood mares around to get another heir if Lucius disobeyed. Lucius could always become the spare, if he chose not to comply with his father's wishes. 

When he was older, he had striven to gain the attention of the Old Fool, hoping to get some relief from the abuse at his home, but Dumbledore only saw the evil in Lucius, never the small amount of good not beaten out of him by his father. When he had been made Prefect, he had nourished a small hope that the old man would smile at him, give him some sign that he was worthy of his position. Lucius had quickly realised that his appointment had been merely political. It was not bestowed because Lucius was seen as worthwhile, it was given because of his surname. Lucius was still enslaved to his position. That was the moment he gave in to his father's ideals, and became the cold, sneering Malfoy through-and-through. 

Or so he thought, until he saw the surly little stick-figure enter the train with the Mud-blood. The boy's clothes hung from his gaunt frame, his hair a mass of snarls and dirt. His exposed wrists bore the signs of abuse, signs Lucius knew all too well. When the odious Potter, the soon-to-be Gryffindor golden boy, had reacted unfavorably to the little boy, Lucius' interest was peaked. If only the boy landed in Slytherin and could be separated from the filth with which he associated. Lucius began working on the child from the first night. At the time, if he had been asked, he could not have told anyone why the waif mattered. Lucius only knew he did.

Severus had given him a measure of comfort in his last two years at Hogwarts. It was surprising really, given that the boy was all Abraxas Malfoy hated about the new wizarding world: Half-blood, ugly, common, and friends with a Mudblood. Lucius took the boy with the quick intelligence and wicked sense of humour, under his wing, but the boy, even as a first year, had been difficult. After a time, Lucius recognised their kinship. He saw the same need in Severus that he saw in himself. Each boy felt the need to be recognised as a person of worth, not scorned, or in Lucius' case, envied, for his position in the world. Even with the difference in their ages, they had become friends of sorts.

Narcissa, of course, never knew his blood status, or she would have thrown a fit when Lucius asked him to join their unofficial post-Quidditch parties, or invited him to spend holidays with them in Spain or the French Riviera, Malfoy always paid the boy's way and gave him spending money. Severus paid his debts to the older boy by making Lucius look good. Friendship with a Malfoy always came at a price. Yet, Lucius had truly liked the dark, ugly boy. He wanted him to do well, and he never felt that Severus tried to enslave him. Thus, Lucius never truly exploited the younger boy, not as Abraxas would have in the same position.

Then, had come the younger Malfoy's first meeting with The Dark Lord. How Lucius ever thought he would achieve that graceful state of freedom under his despotic rule, he would never fathom. He could blame the fact that he became a Death Eater on Abraxas, but it would be a lie. Just as much as Abraxas wanted him to join their ranks, Lucius wanted the freedom that the Dark Lord promised. He craved it as a child craves chocolate. 

He found out soon enough that Riddle had lied. Now, instead of carrying only the yoke of the Malfoy name, he was branded as a servant of the Dark Lord like a piece of chattel. When his new owner was displeased, he showed it with bouts of _Crucio_ and more arcane tortures. Terror became his new master, and Lucius played his role well, to avoid the pain and the emptiness he felt. 

His greatest regret had been bringing Severus to the fold. He should have let him work things out with his Mudblood. He should have let him be happy, or as happy as Severus ever could be, given his sad history.

One day Lucius was forced to marry Narcissa. He hadn't loved her but found her attractive enough. They had dated at Hogwarts, so he complied, knowing he could do worse. He could have been saddled with Bellatrix or the blood-traitor Andromeda, for instance. The first years of their marriage had been fraught with tension Lucius railed at the lack of choice and Narcissa was still a child of her upbringing, rather more common than a Malfoy, but thankfully, not like her sisters. 

Once Lucius accepted the idea of his union and the Fidelity curse that had been wrought to ensure a blooded heir, things became easier between them. He fell in love with her over the first years of their marriage, although he would never tell her so. Such strong emotions could be used against him. When she announced her pregnancy to him, after years of trying, the chains imposed on him tightened, but he hadn't cared. He had kissed her dutifully and excused himself. Alone, he cried tears of joy and fear. He vowed he would not raise his son as he, himself, had been raised. 

Of course he had failed utterly. His son would never be beaten, as Lucius had, but the boy would be just as enslaved. The Dark Lord wanted all the children of his loyal followers in the fold, so, to save his family, Lucius would raise his son with the same ideals in which he had been steeped, minus the frequent beatings, of course. 

He would allow Narcissa to coddle him, and Lucius would let the boy know he was loved by the gifts he gave him. He would not allow soft sentiments to pass his lips. It was the one principle on which he agreed with Abraxas. Words could be used to lie and thus weakened the bond of purity between father and son. Purity was what he lived to maintain, to the exclusion of almost all else. His son and heir would be pure and strong. The pureblood dogma was, after all, what Lucius desired to uphold, was it not? It was one of the reasons he had become a Death Eater.

When his Lord had died, in the first year of Draco's life, Lucius could breathe a little easier, even though he had become a twisted and dark thing along the way. He had a few scores to settle, and he did so. Weasley's daughter hadn't been the target of his ire, but it felt good, at the time, to catch her in his net. Killing the damned Potter brat's Mudblood friend had been his true aim. She bested Draco at everything and endangered his son's position. No Mudblood should have been able to do that, much less befriend such a powerful wizard. Even Severus grudgingly admitted his admiration of the chit. When the dark man had uttered the words, bestowed begrudgingly or not, Lucius had decided to get rid of her. The plan had failed, and had cemented his unenviable position in the Dark Lord's ranks when he finally returned. How was Lucius to know that the sick bastard had stored a piece of his soul in such a relic?

The agony of the punishment had not been physical. He had to watch as the Dark Lord enacted what he would do to Narcissa if Lucius failed him again. They had brought a poor, confused Muggle woman into the Manor. She was almost an exact duplicate of Narcissa, down to the robes in which she had been clothed. She had been given a Love Potion, made by Severus no doubt, to alter her mind and make her think Lucius loved her. Her pleading eyes sought his, and he could not turn away. 

To say she was tortured was to deny the horrors inflicted on her body and soul. Lucius assumed a dispassionate air, but swallowed the bile that rose as he watched the assembled Death Eaters take her brutally and with great imagination. He almost broke when Greyback joined the fray, half-transformed. He took obvious enjoyment in the bloody effluvia on the woman. As he fucked her with his transformed girth, the Dark Lord gave the order to end the entertainment. Greyback eviscerated her and began feasting on her intestines as her horrified screams echoed in the hall. Muggle filth, or not, no being deserved that. 

That was the night Lucius decided to turn the chains of his enslavement on his master. 

He approached Severus. He had, of course, an inkling of Severus' true allegiance. The Mudblood's death had affected his dark friend greatly. Lucius wept as he told of the revel he had been forced to witness. He had never fully realised that Muggles were truly human, that they shared a commonality with wizards that could not be denied. Severus held him, his arms looped stiffly around Lucius' shoulders, his hands wooden as they smoothed his hair. Severus never spoke words of comfort, but Lucius could feel his dearest friend's relief at Lucius' epiphany. 

They had formulated a plan to save as many targeted women as they could. They both knew to do more would risk exposure. The Old Fool had been brought into the room and oaths were sworn. Narcissa would be his unwitting accomplice. Lucius asked nothing for himself, only that his wife and Draco be spared. He knew The Dark Lord had designs on his son, and would eventually punish him for his failures through Draco. 

Then had come the Department of Mysteries fiasco. Lucius had done his best to deter the others from their plans of murder. He had to cast curses, but refused to kill. There were four pureblood children there, and as unenlightened as it seemed, Lucius could not spill their blood. They would breed the next generation, the hope for all of wizarding society. Even the two Weasleys were valuable in their way. They came from good breeders. Lucius had played the cruel Death Eater bastard to the hilt, but had winced when Dolohov had cursed the Granger chit. He knew the spell he had used well; it had been used on him a time or two. She would be in pain, if she survived. The Order came, and more pure blood was spilled. Even if the blood belonged to Severus' childhood tormentor, he mourned the loss. So much waste, for no gain. At the end of the battle, Lucius had not meant to be captured, it had just happened. He was sent to Azkaban, for his own protection. But who would protect his family? Both Severus and Dumbledore tried, but they failed to understand the depths to which the Dark Lord would sink, or later, the import of the Old Fool's injury.

Lucius waited helplessly in the prison while his son was given an impossible task. He could only hope that Severus was as true a friend as he professed, and that he loved Draco as much as Lucius suspected he did. Draco and Narcissa were the only people in the world that Lucius cared about, and he would have spilt the blood from his veins to ensure their safety.

Lucius stirred from the floor of his cell. He had lost everything in the end. His crimes would not be washed away by the acts of compassion he committed so late in the game. Severus had died, and Lucius' last hope of resuming the life he had begun after the first war, was dead with him.

He had been forced to lead the only man he had ever truly called a friend to that state by Lucius' ready compliance to a command by the despot. To fail would have meant his own death, or the death of his beloved family. And Draco, his son and Malfoy heir, was reduced to penury and patronage by the Potter brat. Both were crimes and could be laid firmly at his feet. Now, he had one more supposed crime to add to the list-- his attempted murder of the faithless bitch that had been his wife for the last thirty-two years.

The guards, as they were beating him, had said he had earned himself a new home, but it would be up to the warden to decide where that would be. 

Oh yes, the warden had found him a new home in this most accommodating of places, the new Malfoy Manor: _Solitary Confinement Unit_ , the three words most dreaded by the inmates of Azkaban. He would languish here until his hearing. He would lose whatever small concessions had been granted him by his good behaviour. He would never see his son again.

Lucius retched one more time to cover the motion of his hand to his mouth. He had one way out of this situation, and he would take it. 

He withdrew the shank from its hiding place along his gum-line, drawing it forcefully down his arms, parallel to tendons down the artery. He watched in satisfaction as the arterial spray decorated his new abode. In moments, he would find the freedom he had always sought.

&*&*&

Lucius entered a brightly-lit area, not unlike the King's Cross Station of his youth. He found a bench, and sat, glad to be away from the prison of his memories.

He was obviously dead, and a good thing too. He did not think he could bear one more day as the failure he was. 

He had wanted something before he came here, but for the life of him, he could not remember what. His attention was drawn to an infant, horribly mutilated and crying softly under a bench. Lucius wanted to stir himself to see it, but really could not be bothered. The infant's problems were its own, Lucius had only served it. There had been no love between him and that monstrosity. He turned back to the view of the tracks. 

A hand fluttered into his line of sight. It was soft, feminine and golden. He followed it to the shapely shoulder, up the long neck, finally into the meltingly-beautiful topaz eyes. “I'm Tish Cavanaugh, and you must be Draco's father, Lucius.”

She smiled, transforming her face from dazzling beauty to a heavenly creature of light and purity. Lucius blinked, disconcerted by her proximity. He should not want her,but he did. Thankfully, lassitude enveloped him and he couldn't stir himself to move towards her. She continued, “We never actually met, but I'm the mother of your grandson, Scorpius.”

“Yes, the Muggle with whom Draco was so enamoured.” Lucius turned his gaze away, realising he felt no pain and was clothed again.

“We really don't have those distinctions here.” She frowned, and the platform settled into grey tones. “I wish they would do something about him.”

Lucius followed her gaze to the infant. “Don't worry about him, my dear. He deserves his pain and then some.”

“You don't,” she stated simply. “You never did.”

Lucius sneered, the one he had learned from his father. “And what would you know of it, my dear? I am not my son. I have no soft spots that can be coaxed to thrive. I am a monster who served that thing over there as eagerly as I could.”

She started to reply, but he cut her off. “Where's Snape? He would understand.”

Her smile brightened impossibly. “I'm sorry, he's not here. He has some duties to complete before he can join us.”

“Still a bastard, even in the afterlife, hmm?” Lucius flashed his most winning smile to her. “Well, tell him to drop his duties and come to me. I want to see him before I'm consigned to Hell.”

“I'm sorry, sir, he hasn't joined us yet, and neither have you.” she sighed. “You must return now. You have a son waiting for you, and duties of your own to accomplish.”

“Oh, and Mr. Malfoy?” she said as she paused in the doorway between the two worlds. “Let Draco know that the path he's on right now is the right one. Liz was always intended for him.” 

Lucius could not watch as she disappeared into the light, the loss of her kind presence was too painful.

&*&*&

Lucius stirred, his hands bound, his body aching. Tears pooled in his eyes as he realised he was in a hospital ward, still chained to a life he would gladly relinquish, if only to sit, once more, on the platform and be free. 


End file.
